crying because time is a bully who doesn't share and because I specialize in emotions​​a purse filled with pouches for all the things I collected:birthday candles cufflinks a tiny plastic sword from that one fancy drinkmilky pink quartz polished amethyst and aventurine toogumball machine ponies and tiny mustached bunniescarefully folded letters from my childhood best friend andmy sisters and my husband before he was my husbandcards from mom and dad and aunts and unclesnotes from myself to myself to remind me to bejust as strange when I grew up

the road to work is sleepy and dark andat five in the morning there are so many bats butwhen my uncle diedthe world stopped andI expected there to be no batsthought I might never see them again butthey were there that morning andI have never seen them dance like that​(I will always dance now because of him)